Red Rose of Iraq
by Fifi H. Hasman
Summary: Ardeth is appointed as one of the royal guards of Caliph Al-Mahdi, whom had saved his life. A few years later, the caliph is in dire need of someone to watch over his vivacious daughter and Ardeth is proven to be the best candidate for it. Warning: AU.
1. Prologue: The Massacre of the Medjai

Disclaimer: All rights reserved. No profit is being made with the publication of this story to the site. I simply borrow Ardeth Bay and some others for sheer entertainment purposes.

A/N: The timeline of the story is dated back around the 8th century, so it's going to be in an altered universe (AU). Well, this is my first Mummy fanfiction, also my first attempt in writing a historical-themed story. Do forgive me for my typos and grammatical errors. Enjoy!

**Prologue: The Massacre of the Medjai**

_774 A.D._

The sky was dark and cloudless. Shining brilliantly in it was the moon as it emanated a beauty that was indescribable. In all directions, the desert sand stretched endlessly, mounds rising and falling, moving from side to side. After many days and nights travelling and surviving the ordeal of the desert, he came upon his homeland – tents set up in a circular motion - covering about two hectares just behind the sand dunes he had crossed. Seeing the familiar flickering of flames at the center and smelling the smokes of the freshly cooked potatoes had caused him to smile, nostalgia flooding his whole body.

He beckoned his black stallion forward, the desert winds brushing past his face.

A child's voice shouted in sheer joy, "My brother is back!"

It seemed like the first one who saw him coming home was his one and only brother Achmed.

The Medjai people rushed outside and saw a familiar figure straddling a horse towards them. The figure wore a black robe with vertical scarves on the front and put together at the back, a sash bound tightly around his waist, and then his head wrapped around by the darkest indigo tagelmust, which represented that this figure played the most important role yet in his tribe.

His dark brown eyes lit up as he found himself submerged in the cries of joy and victory, for he had survived the duel with the leader of the Al-Thani tribe – sworn enemies of the Medjai - to avenge his father's death.

He got off his stallion, and shouted takbir of 'Allahu Akhbar!' to his people. The Medjai responded the takbir until they had done it thrice.

The Medjai was considered to be the most powerful tribe in Egypt for their intelligence and legendary fighting skills. The markings on the men's faces dignified their lineage of the Pharaoh's very own sacred bodyguards, also as a sign of their loyalty and oath to preserve a long-term future for the Medjai generation.

A feast was held in collaboration to Ardeth's return. Laughter and music filled the air. It was pure bliss to have been home, surrounded by the people that looked up to him as a role model. However, he just realised that there was one person he had not seen since he returned.

He tried to excuse himself from the children along with Achmed who were excited to know of his journey and how he triumphed, but to no avail. They all clung to him, not giving him any chance to get out of their sight. He proposed, "Children, I have to go find someone now. I will tell you all about it if you can memorise and then recite Surah Al-Fatihah. How is that?"

The children agreed almost instantly and Achmed had even attempted to recite it in front of them, only to be halted by Ardeth's chuckles, amused. "Not now, my little brother. I must see Ummi or else she would be saddened if I had not seen her first and foremost."

Achmed nodded shyly, slightly embarrassed for being so eager and energetic. The children giggled afterwards at Achmed. He laughed again, before slipping away from the children's presence, still reluctant to let him go.

He entered one of the tents located on the north of his homeland, the biggest of all, and the scent of Arab tea wafted through his nostrils. At the corner of the tent sat a middle-aged woman in an abaya, with a tasbih in her hands and reciting a prayer to Allah the Merciful. Ardeth, touched at his mother's devotion, gently spoke, "Assalamualaikum, Ummi."

"Waalaikumussalam, my son. Come sit with me," responded his mother affectionately, tilting her head to him and smiled.

He went over to her side and took a seat upon one of the pillow seats. He took her right hand and briefly pressed the back of it to his forehead. His mother, Aisha – wife of the Medjai's late chieftain -, pulled Ardeth into a warm hug as she greeted, "Welcome home, dear…"

"Thank you, Ummi." Ardeth sighed contentedly and glad for being home in his mother's arms once again.

Suddenly, there was a loud crash outside, startling them both. They looked at each other, bearing the same question that invaded their mind. Terrified screams were heard from the women and children, perking up the two even more.

Ardeth swept out of the tent followed by Aisha only to be greeted by a gory, horrible sight of his people bloodied and slaughtered, flames licking the tents in fury. The Medjai warriors were defending their homeland as best as they could. It was truly a surprise attack but no matter what, nothing could drain the Medjai's determination away.

Aisha gasped in horror as a Medjai fell on the sandy ground beside them, a spear was lodged to his throat and blood spattered from the wound. "Astaghfirullahalazim… Saleh, what happened?"

"R- Run…" A red bubble formed between his lips and burst.

Aisha grieved, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Ardeth clenched his fist and unsheathed his scimitar, shouting a takbir and slashed the scimitar across the disgraceful Al-Thani trio which was attempting to charge at him simultaneously. Clashes of swords rang in his ears as the flames crackled and burnt down the rest of the tents. He had to admit, the Al-Thani had got stronger but his swordsmanship could never be compared to theirs. Ardeth called out frantically whilst he plunged his scimitar from one to another, "Ummi, find Achmed!"

"Ardeth!" He heard Aisha shouted for him and he turned around quickly to find a two-tipped scimitar in her stomach, blood gushing out of the wound rapidly.

A scream of agony filled the cold, desert air and he fought the rest of the Al-Thani just before the dawn broke from the horizon until he stood all alone amidst the lifeless bodies, burnt tents and sand. He panted, fell on his knees, clenching his hands into the sand and ran amok, taking all the blames onto himself for his inability to preserve his generation from being extinct.

The children… Achmed… Ummi… Medjai people…

They died and it was all because of him.

In the end, however, Ardeth managed to leave none of the wretched Al-Thani alive and yet nothing would ever stop the guilt from becoming a disease to him, not even victory at the most. He was the last Medjai warrior. Most of all, the last chieftain of the Medjai and he lost everything dear to him within one dreadful night.

He looked up. Sunlight was, without a doubt, sweet to joyous, effervescent scrutiny, but as he grew blind by its piercing brightness, he failed to recognise its beauty. What was once the warmth of life had intensely became the hopeless heat of death.

His injured and exhausted body fell limply as his eyes shut down, succumbing to the slumber that had started to overtake him.


	2. Chapter 1: Coincidence or Fate?

Disclaimer: All rights reserved. No profit is being made with the publication of this story to the site. I simply borrow Ardeth Bay and some others for sheer entertainment purposes.

A/N: I would like say thanks once again to the reviewers, _DiexGaaf_ and _Miravisu_. You two really made my day! So, the places and figures in the story are partly real, partly not, but the story is completely fictional. However, I hope you enjoy this chapter and reviews are appreciated. I promise, I will reply each review to show my gratitude. :D Constructive criticism is welcomed because the only way for me to learn is to accept it. :)

**Chapter 1: Coincidence or Fate?**

_Golden Gate Palace in Baghdad, Iraq._

_775 A.D._

Zakiyaa was only at the tender age of 8 when she first saw him.

The royal palace was the only world that she had known. It was one of those days where the merchants from all over Middle East would come to give expensive gifts to her father, the caliph, but certainly not that day. Usually at the time, she would be studying but with her 'May I go to the bathroom?' she slipped into the throne halls unnoticed and hid herself behind a big red curtain.

Instead of merchandises, spices and all the other exotic trades that would usually fill the place, there was an adolescent in tattered and unkempt black attire, sitting on his knees on the marble floor in front of the throne where the caliph – better known as his father - was sitting on. Blood and some grains of sand were saturated on the black cloths, and an inky black wave of shoulder-length hair surrounded him that hid his face from her point of view.

Who could this man be? His hands – strange symbols of tattoo that she had never seen before were at the back of both of them - were not bound together with shackles and they were free instead, but why was he there in such state? To have been in the audience of the caliph, could it be that he was a person of grave importance?

_But still…_

He did not move a muscle until the caliph said, "What is your name, son?"

"Ardeth… Ardeth Bay…" He croaked out after many hours and days for not uttering a single word.

The caliph stared at him, observing Ardeth with interest. Just by looking at the colour of his torn, distorted tulgamest that still hung about his shoulders told the caliph himself that this young man was not just an ordinary man from an ordinary tribe, and also the markings of hieroglyphics on his face was very much rare to come across with.

He whispered something to his most trusted Persian vizier, Yaqub, in which the vizier responded with a gasp but nevertheless bowed in respect.

Yaqub commanded, "Guards, bring him to the Royal Garrison and have him cleaned up. Do not forget to bring along his horse at the main entrance. You shall wait there until you receive my next order."

She was slightly appalled. She knew what her father was doing. He was appointing him as one of the royal guards because the Royal Garrison was the home to the royal guards located near the Gate of Syria.

The adolescent moved his gaze up to the caliph and vizier on the podium, revealing his face which had the little princess hidden behind the curtain to be taken aback.

He was… handsome and cleanly shaved underneath the dirt and blood smothered lightly on his face. His eyes were of dark brown that they almost bewitched her, although his facial tattoos were rather strange for her yet attractive at the same time. At the back of her mind, she thought she had seen similar markings when she was studying Ancient Egyptian language, the subject she was currently skipping. She roamed her eyes on him, scrutinizing him to the point she was innocuously enchanted by his manly beauty.

Ardeth felt seemingly confused onto why he was brought to this… Royal Garrison. He was found barely alive in the desert, saved from the claws of demise by a caliph – who was on a journey back home from Cairo to visit the governor there - whom Ardeth had heard of from the circulating rumours around the deserts of Egypt and now he was in a city by the name of Baghdad, taken into the grandiose palace of the caliph.

It was too much for Ardeth to take in.

Ya Allah, he did not deserve the hospitality the caliph had given him.

He was about to protest, but the guards Yaqub had commanded earlier already grabbed him on either side with respect and brought him out of the halls, heading to the residence they were told to go to.

Zakiyaa watched him being taken away. A gasp of surprise escaped her lips when her small wrist was pulled by a large, firm hand. She tilted her head to be back swiftly to meet a pair of enraged eyes of her Egyptian tutor, Samia.

The tutor scolded, "You must not come here anymore until the caliph summons you. This is not a place for us women to wander about. You may be the Abbasid princess but please show more dignity and manners next time like your other sisters do. Is that clearly understood?"

Zakiyaa sighed as tears were brimming in her eyelids, but she nodded so as not to enrage Samia even more.

Samia gently let go of her wrist and took her smaller and stubby hand into her larger one, gently pulling her out of the halls before getting caught by her father. Zakiyaa looked back on her shoulder and heaved out another sigh.

_7 years later…_

_The Market._

_782 A.D._

The market was teeming with people. Musicians sat in the corners playing jaunty and boisterous tunes on their pipes, flutes, and drums. The raised voices of merchants bartering with customers echoed through the streets, while the nimble hands of young children pushed through the crowds, inspecting pockets and swiping oranges from the produce stands. The smell of fresh fish permeated the air.

A young man kept a close eye on his wears. All of his money was sealed tightly in a belt pouch tied securely beneath his robes as well as his scimitar. He was wearing a white tulgamest that covered everything except for his eyes. He wore long white robes – a kaftan -, tied at the waist by a sash. Brown leather sandals were strapped to his feet. He was with an older woman – dressed up in an abaya over a chador, with a veil covering half of her face -, roaming about the streets, fascinated at the rare spices, silks from the distant land of Icanh, small metal trinkets, bells, weights, dice, styli, and compasses featured on the table of a merchant's booth.

He turned around to face the woman, pulling down the veil covering half of his face. Not his face, her face. She was a woman now, her full pouting lips curved into a sweet smile. She grabbed Samia's hands into hers and squealing in amazement for it was her first time ever crossing the palace's walls. She might have been permitted to ride on his father's own retinue and carrying a sword around- which was much to Samia's dismay who was one of the women who really adequate themselves with feminism- but she was never allowed to leave the palace grounds.

"I cannot believe you have persuaded me to go out here into these dangerous streets and especially without the caliph's permission!" groaned Samia, yanking her hands from Zakiyaa's grasp and folded her arms across her chest in disbelief and boring her venom-like eyes to the wild princess. She was not even close to glad to have stepped out of the palace but she admitted that this girl she had been tutoring for more than a decade had grown from a vulnerable child to an outgoing lively young lady, worthy of being called an Abbasid princess despite her lack of elegance. There were also times where she felt outsmarted by her, especially when it came to opinions and conclusions about particular topics they had revised or studied.

"Lighten up, Samia…What is so dangerous about watching people trying to make a living?" asked Zakiyaa playfully, obviously still innocent to the cruel, vile world.

Samia could only sigh for she knew it would be just futile to say anything further, therefore leaving no space for argument.

A voice full of bravado boomed across the streets, "Make way for the commander of the guards!"

Zakiyaa's ears perked up, moving over to the side of the streets as she put her veil back on with Samia tagging along. People were rushing to the sides, dragging whatever they could to make way for one of the most honorable troop of the country. From the far end of the streets, Zakiyaa saw a green flag with an Arabic inscription on it along with the insignia of the commander held up by one of the guards. They paraded down the streets, as if to glorify the power and influence of the Abbasid caliphs over the land.

When the troop got closer to them, they bowed down their head and there was a man – obviously the commander because he was the only one on a horse – wearing black clothes that resembled the adolescent's clothing seven years ago, only the current one was much neat and clean. A sash around his waist held a scimitar bejeweled with rubies and a leather scarf bound around each of his wrists and a black tulgamest with only his eyes visible for the people to see. He strode onwards when his horse neighed.

He bore the same pair of bewitching eyes as that adolescent man. Zakiyaa was about to revert her gaze to the back of his hands to see if he had the strange tattoos, but her attention was taken away by a drunken Turkish man who was wobbling towards them and stumbled upon Samia, his arm wrapped around her shoulders. Samia snorted, wrinkling her nose in disgust as he said soggily, his breath smelt of wine, "Milady, how much do I owe you for one-"

He was cut off by a punch across his face and he instantly fainted, lying unconscious on the earthy ground. A wave of disruption flooded their surrounding, which stirred up a commotion that caused the commander and his troop to stop on their tracks to Golden Gate Palace and turned around to see what was going on. Turkish men came up out of nowhere with their swords ready in their hands who seemed to be the companions to the man earlier and threatened to kill them.

Samia retorted, "See? This is what's dangerous!"

The commander rode on his stallion towards them again before the fight ensued. Unfortunately enough, when he was just a few steps to the tent where the commotion took place, shouts from the Turkish men were heard and the man in the white attires swung his scimitar, defending himself and the woman clinging to his back. Metallic clings consumed their ears as they fought wildly, four against one.

Zakiyya had never been in a fight before. Her hand felt heavy as she swung her scimitar to the Turkish bastards. It was a good thing that she listened attentively during her training under the guidance of the caliph. Since the situation had made it necessary, the only way to handle this situation was to fight them back…

… and run.

The commander shouted, "Guards, seize the Turkish missionaries and the pair!"


	3. Chapter 2: Caught

Disclaimer: All rights reserved. No profit is being made with the publication of this story tpo the site. I simply borrow Ardeth Bay and some others for sheer entertainment purposes.

A/N: Hello, I'm back after almost 2 years of absenteeism. Forgive me for the sudden abandonment as I got caught up with my personal life that I forgot about this part of my life. Your reviews really motivated me to come back to this story and well here I am, with a new chapter to present to you! Thank you for the support and encouragement. Without them and you all, I don't think this chapter would have ever gotten published today. Hopefully the next chapter won't take too much time for me to write. Only time will tell if I deserve this most probably short-term freedom of writer's block.

This chapter contains a lot of terms that most of you may not be familiar with, so I prepared a glossary at the end of this chapter for you to refer to. Reviews are appreciated. Constructive criticism is welcomed. Last but not least, enjoy!

**Chapter 2: Caught**

_Prayer Halls, Golden Gate Palace._

Streaks of red, orange and purple merged as they split horizontally through the twilighted skies. Unnoticed by the wanderers along the streets of Baghdad as stalls closed down and merchants packing up their goods and necessities, all saddled up on their animal transports and set for home, the colours of the skies saturated into a much darker hue, the night drifting in. The cool night breeze from the desert passed by almost politely bidding farewell to the last rays of sunlight. Darkness loomed over, dominating the land for the next 12 hours to come before day would gain its reign once more, as it has been since eons ago. A never-ending cycle, a company to the illusory time.

Maghrib prayers in congregation with the royal hafiz as the imam finished soon after at the Golden Gate Palace, the royal household remained seated on the carpeted prayer halls for supplication and recitations of the Quran; men at the front and women at the back, separated by beautifully carved dividers, with the primary intention being for there to be no direct line of sight between either gender, as it was for propriety that their gazes should be lowered and in this case, unseen to each other at all. When the next and the last of all the five obligatory prayers of the day was initiated by azan, the jema'ah performed their Isyak prayers and once again ended with supplication.

The female royals - who had joined the prayers earlier - began to leave as was Al-Khayzuran, the caliph's fourth wife, were about to leave with the other wives when Zakiyaa came up to her and greeted her, taking her mother's delicate right hand and pressed it to her forehead, kissing it lightly with her lips. No other words were exchanged, only the affectionate _'Peace be upon you'_. She glanced over to the wives and they all stared back at her and proceeded to leave, but among all she knew that her mother was the caliph's favourite. She knew it all along despite her mother's unroyal blood. The caliph had fallen in love with a slave while he was performing his pilgrimage, only to consummate their marriage which resulted in three healthy princes and a beautiful princess that inherited the slave's strong personality, none other than Zakiyaa.

She resumed to folding her prayer garments and then the eldest daughter of the caliph sat before her and spoke to her in a confidential tone, almost a whisper, "Zakiyaa, I know what you were up to this afternoon."

Zakiyaa looked up to her half-sister. She tried to maintain her composure, but her stutters gave it away, "How... What... what do you mean, Abbasa?"

"You put the market into chaos picking a fight with the Turkish who were supposed to be decently presented to the caliph while the commander was on his way here with his troop. You even were called The White Tulgamest as a namesake. Hah, foolishly enough,"

"Yes, but they were harrassi-"

Abbasa interjected angrily but her voice still low and quiet, so as not to let the others hear their conversation even though the other princesses were already staring at them in suspicion, "Even so our relationship with Turkey is at stake because of this! The next time you set foot out of the palace again, you will get caught inevitably. I should've stopped you the moment I saw you climbing up the walls behind your quarters."

" I will be careful next time,"

"No! Zakiyaa, I beg of you. Don't ever leave the palace grounds again. I love you and I care for you so much. Father will be distraught if he hears that it was one of his own daughters who was responsible. If not for my sake, but for his, my dear,"

Her brain was processing everything that Abbasa had said to her. They were sensical, she admitted, but it was too late for that. Abbasa was the only half-sister among all that she felt comfortable with and the only one who genuinely cared for her, but she could no longer be contained here within the palace walls, now that she had seen the world beyond them. It was that desperate that was boiling in her blood. She craved for adventure, for the thrill. The desert winds brushing past her face, riding horseback across the sand dunes. _If only..._

She could not help, but wonder, "You saw me sneaking out of the palace and yet you let me. Why is that?"

"... because I thought maybe you would be glad to get out for once. So tell me, what was it like?"

Zakiyaa grinned sheepishly at her, refraining herself from saying, 'I knew you were curious just as I was!', but it did not stop her from thinking so.

_Caliph's Study_

Moonbeams streamed through the windows in which he savoured its beauty with contemplation and gratitude. Fresh flowers grown at the palace garden were placed in a ceramic vase of ocean blue on the window sill. He had been subconsciously reminiscing his past memories for several days recently, to the point he thought his journey here on Earth would end soon. To leave four wives, three sons and 12 daughters and a throne of a powerful empire were demoralising, somewhat. His train of thoughts was interrupted by a knock on the door but his eyes remained glued on the colourful petals.

"It is I, Yakub,"

His voice croaked in response, "Enter,"

Yakub closed the door on the way in before he was permitted to speak. As the caliph gave him a small gesture, he began,"My liege, the commander of the royal guards believed that Princess Zakiyaa was the one responsible for the disruption at the market earlier,"

Al-Mahdi was flabbergasted, his breathing growing heavier, "How so, Yakub?" The one thing he feared of happening had happened without him realising it. He never thought this day would come where he would be appointing the commander as Zakiyaa's personal guard. He had anticipated it, but that was only if it should happen that Zakiyaa would go as far as sneaking out of the palace grounds. Sneaking out of a lesson was nothing compared to this much more serious of a circumstance. He knew how vivacious his daughter was, but to this extent? She could not have. She might have been not the most ladylike, but she would never leave the palace grounds. Or so he thought.

He saw Yakub placing a clothed item on his study desk in front of him, "What is this?"

"Proof, sire,"

His heart raced out of anxiety, and his instinct acted upon him, telling him that it was the necklace that he had given to Zakiyaa as a child. Letting his wrinkled yet strong fingers traced against the silk, he unwrapped it only to reveal an emerald gem on a gold pendant. He gripped it in his hand and sighed.

"Yakub, you may edify the commander about his new appointment this instance,"

_The West Wing Hall_

She tucked in her garments in her arms and left. Along the way of returning to her quarters, Zakiyaa sneaked up behind her most dilligent Egyptian tutor, startling her who was in deep thought, "Samia! Abbasa knows... I can't help but worry that Father would hear about this."

"It was you who was so eager to see the outside world and now you are worried...? How preposterous! Did you not hear the commander ordering his men to run after us?"

"Samia, please! Not too loud. Anyone could be listening to us at this very moment!"

"If we hadn't gone out today, you wouldn't have to worry about a thing even! You are definitely making me age faster than a mother raising ten kids all on her own,"

"But we were not caught, were we?" A smirk was plastered on her face all of a sudden, as she put an index finger on her chin in a contemplating manner, "So that means we can visit the market again next week!"

Samia, gasped in defiance, "No, milady! I have already defied the orders of the caliph and I promise myself on this very day that there will be no more of this nonsense. You should do the same!"

"But Samia, just one more time!"

"Have you not learned your lesson today? You can either stay here in the palace or never to leave at all,"

Zakiyaa's face turned gloomy, her gaze fell instantly to the floors of marble white. She listened on to her tutor berating at her, although she had had something else in mind and this time, Samia would not know about it.

"We were lucky at Allah's mercy that we managed to escape, but I doubt that the second time won't be as benign as today. Let us head back to your quarters for your Art History lesson,_ Your Highness_, and remember we shall not speak of this again if you don't want us to get caught,"

"Speak of what, if I may inquire?" a deep voice came out of nowhere.

The princess and the tutor swiftly turned around to find the man at the market, the man on the horse while the rest of the troop was on foot, the _commander_ of the royal guards.

Zakiyaa's blood ran cold at the sight. The exact same outfit from earlier this day, the scimitar bejeweled with rubies and his face veiled. The same man who told his men to seize them.

Samia stammered, "What brought you here, my - my lord?"

"To escort the princess back to her quarters. I shall take it from here,_ Lady_ Samia. You may leave,"

"Yes, my lord," Samia glanced at Zakiyaa, who was clearly appalled at the turn of event tonight, "I will see you at your quarters for your Art History lesson tonight, Your Highness,"

"The caliph has ordered her lessons to be dismissed for tonight. I can assure you that the princess will be able to resume her studies tomorrow," The stern authority in his voice was apparent that it caused a sickening twist in her stomach. She gave a nod and left the commander with the princess.

"Shall we head to your quarters, milady?" His left hand was on the hilt of his sword, and then she finally noticed the dark blue markings on his hands. It was the boy from seven years ago!

Realising that she had been staring at his hand for too long a time, she asked, "Why did my father send you here, lord commander?"

He did not answer and instead taunted her with his silence.

She continued, "No men has ever passed through the zenana areas, surely you know that,"

"Not the princesses' guards, no,"

"What ever do you mean?"

Out of the blue, he grabbed her waist and lifted her slender body - covered with layers of chiffon - over his shoulder as if she weighed no more than a feather. Erratic screams erupted from her at the brash treatment this commander had given her, "How dare you! You inconceivable man! Let me down!"

He ignored her frantic movements and trudged towards her quarters, steadily trying to keep the princess from falling off of his shoulder. The most embarrassing part for Zakiyaa was when they got into the zenana chambers of the princesses and all her half-sisters were watching in amusement with their servants, although the dismayed Abbasa only looked on, shaking her head lightly. As they walked down the hall towards her quarters, the Moroccan double doors made from reclaimed cedar and intricately carved on both sides with fine heavy-duty brass hardware finishing came up. As he was about to push them with his free hand, he heard the familiar sound of a sword being unsheathed and before he could even look to the side, Zakiyaa held up his very scimitar to him, its tip touching the underside of his chin.

With the sentiment of a well-trained soldier, he grabbed his kharjan from underneath his robe and swung it against his sword to push it away, a sharp clank introduced. Two sets of eyes locked in a gripping gaze, bodies move together in a circle, in an attempt to remain at the center of their opponent's body. She kicked him on the chest at the first opening she saw, pushing him backward through the doors, slamming them open. Her bedchamber was dark and only the moonlight was their source of light before they continued their heated duel once more. She could hear him groan behind his veil not out of pain, but rather out of spite that a young woman would be quite a challenge to him.

"I'm not to be underestimated. That you know now," she muttered, breaking the competitive silence between them, both of them breathing heavily.

As she was on the verge of charging at him, he moved towards her and together they fell onto a bed of soft, plush pillows. The jewel tones with the shimmer of gold and silver in beautiful silk elegantly recreated in satin surrounded them. His hands were on either side of her head. What caught her off guard was when she saw his unveiled face, those same hieroglyphic markings on his cheeks.

He glared at her intensely. Dramatic shadows defining every sharp angle of his features, he looked almost skeletal, but firm and strong still. Her face felt aflame at the closeness. She had never been this close to a man before and it brought unfamiliar feelings to her. She willed away the blush creeping up to her cheeks. He leaned down, his face much closer to hers. His voice sent goose bumps spiraling down her body, "You will stay here for seven days, seven nights, confined within your quarters by the order of the caliph. You will not attend the banquet due in a fortnight, should you defy him in any way,"

With that, he got up with his scimitar and left her stunned before she started yelling hateful words, feeling like such a fool for a princess.

**Glossary**

Maghrib: _After sunset until dusk._

Hafiz: _A scholar who memorises the Quran._

Imam: _A person who leads prayers in congregation._

Azan:_ A call to prayer._

Isyak:_ After dusk until dawn._

Zenana areas/chambers:_ Inner apartments/chambers of a residence for the women of a Muslim family/clan._

Kharjan: _A dagger._


End file.
